


Do You Know Dean Winchester?

by Mas_Cabron



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel, Destiel - Freeform, Fight Club AU, Human Castiel, M/M, NOT EXACTLY LIKE FIGHT CLUB, Religious Conflict, Supernatural Elements, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:17:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mas_Cabron/pseuds/Mas_Cabron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end I remember thinking, how did I not know? Dean sitting across from me, a gun on the table like a steel elephant in the room, all of our actions leading up to the inevitable. How did I not know? </p><p>People would ask me if I was Dean sometimes, laughing at the confused expression on my face. No, I was not Dean, that was the point, he was everything that I wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> So this was inspired after I watched the Fight Club movie and seeing it instead of reading it made it more gay for me, and this kind of popped into my head. *THIS WILL NOT BE EXACTLY LIKE FIGHT CLUB* I wont be spoiling the ending for Fight Club for you. Feedback is lovely, and I will try to update as much as possible but I am in school and working for my GED so don't get your panties in a twist. As always find me on tumblr: angelsforeverforeverdemons.

The second time I met Dean Winchester he was twenty-nine and I was thirty- four. 

I was driving home from work, a mediocre job in a banking firm. I was administrative assistant, a fancy name for their slave. I'd been at it for five years, you would have thought by now I could have gotten somewhere, but my trouble was, I didn't want to. The job was located inside the city limits, my house, on the outskirts, all in all a forty minute drive. I was losing money. Up until that point, everything in my life had made sense, everything had order, a rule to which it went by. The dishes got washed, meticulously put away in the cabinets, the car was clean, parked in the underground garage, my clothes neatly pressed and color coded in my closet. My life was made up of that forty minute drive where I got to pick apart myself and second guess everything, all else was dead to me. I had no friends, no family, I would have killed myself long ago if I wasn't already dead. 

All of that changed when I met Dean Winchester. 

 

In the end I remember thinking, how did I not know? Dean sitting across from me, a gun on the table like a steel elephant in the room, all of our actions leading up to the inevitable. How did I not know? 

People would ask me if I was Dean sometimes, laughing at the confused expression on my face. No, I _was not_ Dean, that was the point, he was everything that I wasn't. 

 

He was like one of those stray dogs you see in real life, dirty, skinny, and angry, _so angry_. I think that was one of the first things that drew me to him, I was like a fucking mouse going for the cheese, my food was his anger, his emotion fueled me like nothing in this world could, gave meaning to my life, his anger was that strong. In my my mundane life, crap shit dead end job, I was looking for life, and in his own way, Dean gave that to me. 

The first time I remember seeing him was at the side of the road, I was ten minutes away from playing Happy Families with myself, the checklist of the evenings activities scrolling through my mind. 

I had to swerve to avoid hitting him.

That was the most pressure I had put on my car in the allotted time I had owned it. Luckily for me, the breaks held up, and seconds later I was stepping out to look back at the person who had almost ruined my Subaru, the skid marks on the road weaving haphazardly like a man drunk in the afternoon. 

"Hey! Are you okay?" I was shouting to his back, every word that came out of my mouth was like a shovel; incidentally I was digging my own grave. 

I wish I'd left him, I wish I'd continued driving to Suburban Paradise, 

living but not alive.

He turned to look over his shoulder, the evening light casting a shadow on his face. "Pretty nice for a guy I almost killed." he's smirking. In another life I would have hit him. 

"Yeah well, same goes for you." 

He'd stopped walking by now, his body turned towards the ditch, back to the setting sun. I could almost see straight through him he was that skinny. "Do you need a ride?" 

He laughed, the noise caring the five or six yards to my car. "You got a death wish or something?"

When I didn't answer, he stopped laughing, "Are you shitting me? You would give a total stranger a ride?" 

My lack of response didn't seem to bother him, for a second later he was walking towards me, shifting a bag I hadn't even seen. "Where you heading to?" we both moved with an unsaid order and slid into the car, the dynamics suddenly seeming very small with just two people in it.

 I could have reached over and put his seatbelt on for him. 

"A couple streets down, take a left, turnoff on the dirt road." 

I started the car, trying not to look at the stranger in my passenger seat,

 Who would soon become my world. 

"Isn't that a dead end or something?" I focused on getting the car out of the ditch, rocking it twice before the wheels gripped the road, the engine giving a huff.

"Look dude," his voice got gruff, "you asked me if I needed a lift and this is where I need to go."

I turned my head to look at him, when his eyes met mine, I snapped back to the road, 

"Besides, who the fuck gives rides to sleazy ass looking guys at night to god knows where?" he moved in his seat, fingers drumming a steady beat on the sill of the window. 

My shoulders came up in a laid back shrug, "I don't think you look sleazy." And it was true. He had at least a weeks layer of dirt, his hair greasy and clothes torn to rags, but there was a genuine look in his eyes. He wasn't twitchy like a drug user, he had more clothes than a prostitute, and so far, I was still breathing.

"Right here man," he motioned to an offbeat path almost hidden by overgrown shrubbery. "just keep going past the gate and stop by the big cement thing." 

I drove the car farther down the beaten path, past an iron gate barreling hanging on, pulling under a canopy of leaves and coming through the other side, we had just enough time to see the sun slip away. Dusk. 

When I finally pulled the car up to a cement structure, the first hint of stars had begun to appear in the sky. "Are you sure about this?" I craned my neck to see out the window, squinting my eyes in the ascending darkness. It was like a root cellar, jagged steps to a bolted door. Everything about it was unwelcoming. I wouldn't have said anything had it not been for the graffiti on the cement above the door. 

**God doesn't want you to be happy, he wants you to be strong.**

****"I know its not much compared to a two story subdivision, but home sweet home."

I look at him just in time to see him wink at me before he's one foot out the door. "Wait! I don't even know your name." 

He's leaning down, shit eating grin on his face, more cock than a farm full of chickens. "Winchester, Dean Winchester," and then he slammed the door, hopped down the steps and out of sight. 

I sat there until well after darkness, staring at the place where he had been. Finally a twig from a neighboring tree hit my windshield and I put the car in reverse. I had to go home, I had to take a shower, cook dinner, wash my plates, sort my recyclables, and go to bed, I had work in the morning. 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. God Created them in his Own Image

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should dedicate this to Betty Days (sadrobots) because I've been basically using her as my everything. Yolo swag, please enjoy this. Also, I know I started this on a Sunday last time? And now Im updating on a Sunday? God forgive me?? But Im not sure if I will continue to do that. Honestly I just wrote all of this today.

 

_" And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him."\- Colossians 3:17_

 

"-Need you to run me off twenty copies of last months tax detections, Naomi wants you to do a draft of the new orders for security, and, are you even listening?" quick heals clicked on linoleum and suddenly my view was blocked by,

"Bela, please not now, I'm busy," 

 _"I can see that,"_ her syllables stretched over Great Britain accent, her tongue reached out and did a once over on her blood red lips. "You're looking fairly knackered today, more so than usual, who tickled your ivories?" she sat on the edge of my desk, crossing her legs, the slip of her skirt inching higher if that was even possible. 

Was she trying to seduce me? "You said Naomi wants that report drafted?" I rubbed my eyes, the numbers on the screen were starting to dance. It was almost two. Two o'clock being when I took my lunch break, after that come back into the office, remake coffee for the fifth floor desk clergy, a bunch of old woman who were just as good at their jobs as Bela was but were more subtle at manipulating people into abiding to their will. After that I go down to the lobby, pick up any mail and department bank reports and trade them off at Michaels desk, he was our floors CEO. From there it was down to the dungeons to rifle through old costumer reports, bank receipts and anything else that might come of use to us one day and file it away in a never ending labyrinth of shelves and boxes. It was terrible really, the ploy that they had going on here, scamming people out of millions of dollars, One of Americas number one trusted banks, a lier and a cheat, just like everything else on this earth. 

"Do you want to go out tonight?" her voice brought me back into the present, legs still on my desk, skirt still at an unprofessional level. 

“Bela, the report please.”

She continued to ignore me, "Come on, go out with me." 

"You always ask me, and I always say no." I tried to focus on her face, but my eyes saw right through her. 

"One of these days you'll relent." She patted my leg before hopping down, leaving me a folder of the expected rate of income for the month and a burning feeling where her hand had made contact with my body. 

_I highly doubt that._

 

I watched them sometimes. They all said they had things to live for, things to do, places to go, they were all in a hurry. But for what? If you took time out of the equation, would everyone still be running? 

The human race would find something else to diminish. 

I watched Kevin Tran, Bela's intern, run the floor for thirty minutes. He had papers stacked to his chin, his body radiated anxiety. I watched him run back and forth, every time the stack of papers getting larder, until finally he ran around the corner and right into Michael. To his credit, he didn't start crying, instead dropping to the floor, kneeling almost as if Michael was a king instead of a worthless scum with millions to his name. 

I didn't hear what words were exchanged, but when the CEO walked away, expression still set in stone, Kevin's hands were now shaking with every paper he was picking up. 

I got up and walked over to him, squatting down to my heels so I could help him. 

"Sorry, sorry," he was mumbling, his long hair hanging in his face, tie already coming off, Im sure if he lifted his arms there would have been dark stains. 

I started picking up the sheets of paper closest to me, expecting them to be formal documents, but instead coming across drawings, sketches and even some paintings. 

" _I'm so dead, I'm so dead,_ " he kept mumbling. But I wasn't listening, my focus on the papers in my hand. They were good, the pictures depicted mostly people, but a few of them showed buildings, places I recognized around the city. I went through a couple before one made me pause, I glanced at Kevin, he was still hectically picking up the bomb of colors, he wasn't paying any attention to me, I doubt he even knew I was there. Quickly, before he could notice anything, I folded the picture and dropped to my knees, easily sliding the paper into my pocket before going back to picking up more pictures. 

When we had everything picked up, Kevin finally looked up and seemed to notice me. "Thank you so much," he reached out for the papers in my hands,"These are just, I was just going to throw them." He was stumbling over his words, blatantly lying to me. 

"Are these Bela's?" I asked him instead, handing over his things and standing up, brushing my black trousers. 

He gave me a questioning look, still bent on the ground, reminding me of the child that he actually was. "Why would these be Bela's?" 

"You're her intern aren't you?" I slid my hands into my pockets, my fingers brushing the picture I had taken from him, hand closing around it. 

Suddenly I wanted to leave him. 

"I didn't know you knew that." He got up, for a kid, he was almost as tall as me. 

"You good here?" I had already used up my half hour break of doing, _nothing_ , and now I needed to go to the dungeons. I turned, not waiting for him to answer, my hand still wrapped around the paper, fist starting to sweat. 

"Yeah, thanks man." He called after me. 

I turned my head to the side, not bothering to look at him and gave a nod, before returning to my desk. I had to pick up a file on someone who had just opened up an account today. That in itself wouldn't have been anything new, if that person hadn't gone ahead and deposited two thousand dollars into five separate accounts; all under different names. Michael jumped on it like a linebacker at a friday night game, enthusiastic and greedy, he called it 'knowing where to place his bets.' 

It's a bank, not a casino. 

I still hadn't understand what was so special about it. 

"Its how wealthy people hide their cash dear." Bela had explained to me when I picked up the folder from the front desk and had the misfortune of running into her in the elevator, her perfume like a thick cloud surrounding my mind. "They use fake names, open up multiple accounts, fake loans, hard core greedy bitches even deposit money outside their countries." 

I raised my eyebrow but didn't ask any more questions. 

All the information he had provided us with was in the manila envelope that was now on my desk. I glanced back to where Kevin Tran had been standing. 

He was gone. 

Sitting down inside my cubicle, I cherished what little amount of privacy I had before unclipping the folder and letting the contents slip out. There was one slip of paper. Was this a joke? Did Michael really expect me to work with this? Whoever the man was, he was practically invisible, that or deceased. 

Unfolding the paper was reminding me of the other folded paper in my pocket, but that thought was quickly replaced when I saw what was written on it. 

There was five names written on it in total,

Benny Lafitte; $400

Adam Milligan; $400

Nick Mendacium; $400

Kevin Solo; $400

Dean Wesson; $400

The last one was circled in red, a yellow post it note stuck to the paper written in Michaels writing telling me that Dean Wesson owned the accounts. 

I frowned. This was the part that I hated. Doing Michael's dirty work while that white collard pedigree mutt didn't even have to clean his ass. I did it because I had no other choice. I was the only one standing between these hoarders and the common wealth of America. If I left, Ms Braeden and her son's account would be syphoned out, with a legitimate excuse, the papers she signed unknowingly would prevent her from any lawsuit towards us. If I left, Kevin Tran would be reduced to a quivering mess, urinating himself every time Michael even came within the vicinity. I couldn't leave, whether anyone knew it or not, I was here for the greater good. 

That was how I found myself in the dungeons an hour earlier than usual. Michael wanted me to dig up anything that we possibly had on all the names that Wesson had provided us with. I started alphabetically, not that it ended up helping. 

Nothing, not an ounce of information on any of the names besides what Wesson had written on the dotted lines, and that had undoubtedly been fake. No receipts, papers, signatures, nothing in the computers. This man was well protected.

I was deep within the catacombs of the banks basement when I remembered the picture I had taken from the Tran kid. Dropping the box I was holding, I cleared off the surface with my hand, creating a cloud a dust that I tried to inhale. Carefully I sat down and pulled the folded up piece of parchment from my pocket, thankful that at least the lights worked fairly decent down here. 

My hands started to sweat again when I started to unfolded it and I had to wipe them on my pants quickly to keep the paper safe. 

When the picture unraveled, my hands started sweating again. It looked like me, but the sketch was rough and smudged in some places. Almost like it was well worn, thoroughly looked at. 

The persons hands were held above their head, someone else's hands holding theres tight, in fact, his whole body was being forcibly held by hands with unseen owners. his shirt was thrown open and a knife was carving something into his chest, causing the pained look upon his face. The thing that made my breath catch in my throat though, was the necklace hanging around his throat. It was hindu carving of a buddha head, thrown onto a well worn out leather cord. 

I suppose that was the only true reason I had in believing the picture was me. 

Quickly, before anyone noticed my abstinence from working, I folded the picture back up and placed it inside my pocket, my left hand clenching around it again while my right hand reached up and touched the buddha head through my pressed shirt. 

I should probably talk to the Tran kid.

 

 


	3. Choice Kingdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY ITS BEEN LIKE A YEAR. Okay yes I've been busy, no excuse, we're not all machine spitting writers up in here. BUT, I have been taking a SHIT ton of notes on this whenever possible so honestly all I need to do is write this stuff down. Sorry it's so short, next chapter will be longer, promise.

**Then I saw in the right hand of him who sat on the throne a scroll with writing on both sides and sealed with seven seals.**

_My hands danced erratically across the paper, I couldn't comprehend what I was making, but it wasn't mine to understand,_ not yet _._ **And I saw a mighty angel proclaiming in a loud voice, "Who is worthy to break the seals and open the scroll?"** _The picture was taking form, every time my hand came back, my palms would smear it. I couldn't stop though._

_Its like everything in my life was leading me up to this, I was on the brink, on the edge, but I hadn't been pushed yet. I was just waiting._

_I knew he had seen him,_ I _had seen it in my dream. It was only a matter of time before one of them came to me. I should have been mad, like hell those bitches were using me already. But I don't think either of them knew it. Besides, I was here to help._

_When I was a child my mom had told me that I was given life for another, that I was destined for greatness. "Your life is not to be floundered Kevin." She said. "Your life wont always be yours."_

_At the time, I had no idea what she was talking about. I was seven, nothing supernatural about me. But now? I know how the circle of life works, I read the bible, the Qur'an, the Tipitaka, I was working my way through the holy books. The only thing they had in common was 'do good things and good things will happen'. In the end you still die._ **But no one in heaven or on earth or under the earth could open the scroll or even look inside it.**

****_I could feel things changing. I had been working at the bank for three years, they'd told me_ he _had been for five plus, and yesterday was the first day he had acknowledged me._ **Then I saw a Lamb, looking as if it had been slain, standing at the center of the throne, encircled by the four living creatures and the elders. The Lamb had seven horns and seven eyes, which are the seven spirits** **of God sent out into all the earth.** **He went and took the scroll from the right hand of him who sat on the throne.** _People don't give me enough credit. I'm smarter than I look._ I pay attention _. I payed attention when he took the picture. It only took me three minutes to figure out which one he took, all I had to do was flip through the existing pieces that I had._

 _It made sense really. It_ was _of him, the picture wasn't that clear, but I knew. I would have demanded it back, but all things happen for a reason, if he wasn't meant to see it, he wouldn't have. Even I can't change what's predestined._

**“You are worthy to take the scroll**

**and to open its seals,**

**because you were slain,**

**and with your blood you purchased for God**

**Persons from every tribe and language and people and nation.**

**** **You have made them to be a kingdom and priests to serve our God,**

**and they will reign on the earth.”**

_I sat back and stared at the completed image, watching someone else's death come alive by my hands. I never tried reading too much into them, they were just pictures, and they weren't always clear. I couldn't bet my whole life on them. But one day I was going to have to._

_What's a good story without bloodshed?_

 


End file.
